


One Cube, Two Cube, Red Cube, Blue Cube

by Fanfic_For_The_Void



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Gen, Injury, Mention of blood, Uhura is wlw because i said so, lunch time, multicultural cuisine, the weird food cubes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:27:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25474618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fanfic_For_The_Void/pseuds/Fanfic_For_The_Void
Summary: It’s lunchtime on the Enterprise, but a member of the bridge crew is missing. A little vignette about colourful food cubes, the dangers of the job, and the taste of home.
Comments: 12
Kudos: 26
Collections: Star Trek Fandom Potluck Collection





	One Cube, Two Cube, Red Cube, Blue Cube

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the Star Trek Fandom Potluck on tumblr and beta’d by @thesarosperiod and @sunbeamstarship

Captain James Tiberius Kirk was not hungry. He sat still and quiet, poking at a plate of standard rations. The red, green, blue and yellow cubes did nothing to entice him. Smiling ruefully to himself, he realized that Bones would be thrilled. The doctor was always on him about his weight. A shame that he wasn’t here to see it. McCoy had been in sickbay for the past four hours, performing an emergency surgery.

It wasn’t that Kirk was full, but that his insides were twisted with worry. Ensign Chekov would not be making it to lunch today. The junior officer had collected nearly all of his soil samples on the morning’s away mission, when one false step had sent him sprawling. Kirk stabbed a blue block with his fork. Chewing, it seemed to have no flavour. The sight of Chekov’s unconscious face, blood forming a small pool on the ground around him, would stay with him, right alongside the memories of all the other officers dead and gone. With this job, there were good days and there were bad days.

Commander Spock entered the mess hall at precisely 1300 hours. He spotted Captain Kirk seated alone at the table, picking at a meal.

“Captain,” he acknowledged, punching his order into the replicator. A set of standard rations, colourful as ever, materialized with a beep. 

“Spock,” Kirk replied dully, glancing up. Analyzing the man’s face, and tone of voice, Spock concluded that he was experiencing a human emotional episode. It appeared to be a blend of guilt and sadness, presumably over the injury of Ensign Chekov. He sat beside Jim, putting his tray down with a quiet thud.

“I have visited Sickbay. The Doctor was still in surgery when I left, but Nurse Chapel assured me that progress was being made,” Spock said. Kirk offered him a smile, but he noted that it seemed forced.

“That’s good.”

Taking a bite of his rations, Spock kept a careful eye on his Captain. It wasn’t often that he ate with so little enthusiasm. 

The smooth savoury flavour of the pink cube he consumed was almost reminiscent of a pe’el mushroom steak, but the thought of the young ensign lying on the operating table soured the memory as he ate.

“I have faith in the Doctor’s abilities,” he said. It was a platitude, but Jim nodded, smile looking a little less forced.

Chief Engineer Scott stormed into the mess hall like a freight train, slapping at the replicator for whatever, as long as it was food. He collapsed at the table, across from Commander Spock and the Captain. The warp core had been acting up for the past two hours. His lady was a temperamental one, that was for sure. He and his engineers had been scuttling around like crabs, running diagnostics and repairing conduits, and Scotty was starved. 

He wolfed down a couple of the cubes. They had never been too tasty, but they were edible. What he wouldn’t do for a good bowl of cullen skink right now! The replicators could never make it as well as his grandmother, but then again, nobody could.

He had heard that the young Ensign Chekov had been injured this morning. This was never a safe job, but it was always unsettling when someone you knew, even in passing, got hurt.

“Do you think Chekov will be alright, sir?” he asked the captain. 

“I hope so,” Kirk replied with a bracing smile. Scotty nodded. The swishing sound of the mess hall doors opening drew his attention. In stepped Lieutenant Uhura. Aye, that was a lovely lady. As she punched her order into the replicator, Scotty waved her over.

Lieutenant Uhura hated standard rations. They were bland, mushy, and left a pasty feeling in your mouth. But then again, food was food. She sat at the senior officer’s table, beside the Chief Engineer. 

“Hello Lieutenant,’ he said with a wide smile. 

“Scotty,” she replied politely. She had suspected for some time that the man had a little crush on her. It was endearing, but quite futile on his part. 

Nyota took a bite of a green block, and repressed a grimace. How she wished it were a plate of pap en vleis- stewed beef, maize porridge, and a side of chakalaka. That was what food was meant to be. A meal shouldn’t just feed you, it should excite you. Where was the flavour?

“I dropped by sickbay to visit Christine,” Uhura said. She felt a smile tug at her lips. How she loved that woman. “And she had a spare moment. Apparently the surgery is going well. Chekov should be fine.” She was worried about the ensign. It had looked like a nasty wound.

“Thank goodness,” Sulu said, sliding into a chair. He had been with Chekov when he had slipped. It had been just a second of inattention when he bent over to collect a soil sample. Turning back around, he had seen the young Russian on the ground. It was almost funny. Even in the twenty third century, with all the dangers of space, poor traction was still a threat.

He had become close with the ensign during long shifts on the bridge, and late nights playing cards. Pavel would tell him about the girl he liked, and his family back home. Sulu chewed on a yellow cube, remembering the time Chekov introduced him to borscht, using one of his replicator tokens to produce the beet stew instead of standard rations. Hikaru was an only child, but if he had a little brother, he would want one just like Pavel.

Leonard McCoy needed food now. Having skipped breakfast, and performed a four hour surgery on an empty stomach, even the thought of those uninspiring, oddly colourful cubes made his stomach growl. The surgery had been challenging too. A little brain trauma was never a laughing matter, even with the wonders of modern medicine.

“I’m hungry,” Ensign Chekov complained from the hoverchair that McCoy pushed along the Enterprise’s corridors.

“So you’ve said,” Bones replied dryly.  _ Three times.  _ The sedative was still wearing off, and the young man was a tad loopy. 

The doors to the mess hall slid open, and Ensign Chekov spotted the faces of his friends, all seated at a table.

“Hey!” he exclaimed, grinning at the looks of surprise he received. Chekov pushed himself out of the hoverchair, only to sway in place for a moment as a wave of dizziness overcame him. Doctor McCoy’s firm hand on his shoulder stabilized him, and he understood why the hoverchair had been necessary.

“Chekov!”

“Welcome back.”

“I’m glad to see you’re alright.”

“He wouldn’t stop asking to see you all. It was more complaining than I could handle,” the doctor grumbled. “You should still be in sickbay,” he said, shooting Chekov a stormy look. Pavel laughed. It was true.

“I don’t want to be in there!” Chekov pointed out, having more fun with this than strictly necessary. “The food is terrible.”

“It’s the same food all over the ship,” Sulu pointed out.

Chekov snorted. “It tastes like loneliness.” Wobbling over to the replicator, he was able to press some combination of buttons that produced standard rations.

Sitting down, his head finally stopped spinning. “Did you all miss me?” he asked, beaming.

“Terribly,” Uhura replied with a smile.

“It’s good to have you back,” Sulu added, clapping him on the shoulder.

Pavel dug into his cubes. He had never appreciated just how bright they were. They may not have been delicious, but looking at the faces of his friends, he realized that they always tasted better together.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, I hope you have a great day!


End file.
